


Lessons in Pain

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little bit of SG Drift/Wing headcanon. Based on a friend's headcanon. For tf-rare-pairing weekly request thing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons in Pain

 

“Oh, Deadlock,” Wing’s voice, that silken purr of mocking disappointment, cut through the black storm of Deadlock’s sensornet. “You never do disappoint.”  The words were music, Lydian and dark, resonating through Deadlock’s agonized systems.

He couldn’t form words: Wing’s voice was the only thread of coherence he had, the only solid filament piercing the fog of pain. He felt disembodied and altogether too embodied, both at once, feeling every synapse of his circuitry, burning with a pain that somehow lifted him out of awareness, floating on a razor-edged mass of agony.

Deadlock felt Wing’s lips, cool and smooth like satin, against his own: hot, cracked and caked with energon he’d bled or vomited. Or both. It had been a long session and he couldn’t remember anymore. Couldn’t remember much, except his name and his pain and Wing’s voice, a gold wire stitching through it all.

A glossa, tingling and electric, shocking pain into the splits in his lip plates, tasted the energon on his mouth, a sort of feeding, vile kiss. He could hear Wing’s pleasured hum, even before his optics slowly rebooted, feeding him a world spiderwebbed with cracks and stained with gore. He winced, reflexive, as Wing bit down on one lip plate, his own mouth closing over Deadlock’s damaged lip, sucking at the wound.

The gold optics glowed into his, catching on the cracks of his lenses, sending flares of light into his visual processor.

Wing purred, pulling away slowly, with one final, possessive nip at Deadlock’s lower lip plate.  He licked his own lips, glossa circling the satiny metal with a slow, indulgent, obscene sensuality, knowing he was being watched, knowing the stir of horror and revulsion he created in Deadlock, and loving it.

And the worst part was how beautiful Wing was, like some mockery or perversion of beauty, when he looked like this, optics sultry, mouth in an aroused shape, not the cruel grin Deadlock had come to know—and fear—all too well.  Wing was beautiful, unconsciously and by design, his gold optics like glittering topazes set against the night dark black of his armor. It was a plush, decadent beauty, far beyond what Deadlock saw and remembered from Cybertron, before he’d stumbled across the ‘Knights’.

Wing leaned in, nuzzling Deadlock’s face, gold optics enveloping his feeble red, like flames.  “I love,” Wing whispered, his voice almost trembling with something suppressed, “seeing you like this, Deadlock.” 

“…why?”  His own voice, distant and unfamiliar, scratchy with static. He’d shrieked his vocalizer out of charge cycles ago, so the sound was a bare stir of electrons, the one syllable bearing the freight of a dozen questions: why do you like hurting me? What pleasure can this bring? And above all, the question that hurt to even think of: why me? 

“Because,” Wing said, glossa flicking to sample the drop of fresh energon that had welled up from Deadlock’s one, solitary word, and for a long moment Deadlock thought that might be Wing’s answer, insolent and blunt.  The black hands sleeked over his armor, as a lover might. “It strips everything away, doesn’t it, Deadlock?” 

The hands, which before had moved over him with a sadist’s knowledge, seeking, faultlessly, the pathways to pain, turning his body into a symphony of betrayal, now touched him, delicate, solicitous, soothing. The alternation, the change, was more upsetting than anything else: Wing’s instability, or his. It tore him apart, it undermined the idea that there was order and sense and trust in this world.

“Yes.” Another flat croak of his underpowered vocalizer.  He could feel heat roil off his body, his autorepair overwhelmed and even that heat hurt. Everything: Past, future, thought, emotion, history, right, wrong, desire, until he couldn’t even form the desire for the pain to end.

A satisfied purr, the hands, brushing lightly over his armor sending signals on the edge of pain to his overtaxed sensory nodes, confusing him. “Beautiful,” Wing breathed, the word too sweet, almost cloying, as though everything Wing did was always too intense, just on the edge of too much to bear. He leaned closer, pressing his body against Deadlock’s, and he could feel the heat of the other’s arousal, real and sensual, as though ‘too much’ for Deadlock was barely enough to excite him.

“Perhaps I should take you.” Wing’s voice was sultry and warm and dark, and the words were a mere goad. It was the first thing Deadlock knew for sure, that Wing would rape him. That was too crass, in a way, too obviously about power, too unconflicted, too simple. And Wing could see the realization in Deadlock’s optics, his smile returning to the dangerous curve, pleased and gratified at the lesson.  “Clever,” he said, stepping back, letting his gaze drop down to take in the energon-streaked, precisely mauled frame.  “Now, shall I continue?”

Another trap, this an obvious one.  “W-whatever you want,” Deadlock said, with a bleak resgnation. If he said yes, Wing would. If no, Wing would continue, anyway, just to show Deadlock how little his word, his will, meant.  So he surrendered, feeling any scrap of control shred like gossamer.  
  
Who are you without control? What are you without your past, without hope, without will?

“Oh, Deadlock,” Wing’s smile bloomed again, like a supernova, radiant in the darkness, his hands like folds of silk, petting him, like a prized creature. And Deadlock was a creature, one of Wing's making. “You _are_ learning.”

  



End file.
